


Our Master's Voice

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have more power than you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Master's Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #2 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

 

_"You did this to me."_

 

          Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse, United States Army Special Forces was… miffed.

          After a long night of tossing, turning, coughing, putting up with a throat that felt like he'd been sipping kerosene, Ironhorse had finally managed to fall asleep around four in the morning.  The alarm sounded at five.

          The colonel knew that if he ignored the summons, his civilian nemesis would come looking for him, wondering what was wrong, and the last thing he wanted to do was tell Blackwood he had—

          No.  He would not even think the name.  Maybe, just maybe, if he totally ignored it, it wouldn't be true.  It would turn out to be the result of a slightly feverish nightmare…

          The more rational side of the soldier's mind scoffed.  Ignoring a problem did not make it go away.  He coughed and shook his head.  And this particular predicament was going to require finesse if the officer was going to maintain his dignity.

          There ought to be a regulation against anyone above the rank of major getting sick, he decided, especially when they were living with civilians.  Some of whom _thought_ they had M.D.'s instead of Ph.D.'s.

          With a look of sheer determination fixed to his face, Ironhorse forced his legs over the edge of the bed.  The flu he'd been fighting for four days had left his muscles sore and sluggish.  Standing, he swayed for a moment, then headed for the small bathroom.  Maybe a hot shower would help his muscles, and—

 _Stop thinking about it!  That's an order, mister_ , he commanded himself.

          Turning on the shower, Ironhorse examined himself critically in the mirror while waiting for the water to reach near scalding temperatures.  He was slightly flushed, except around the mouth, which looked vaguely blue.  Dark smudges clung to the hollows under his eyes, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not ignite a spark in the black depths to hide the lethargy that cohered to his soul like the fever sheen that coated his body.

          It was bad.  Blackwood would not be inclined to relent in his struggle to cure the officer.  Since the first signs of illness in the soldier, the scientist had begun trotting out a seemingly endless string of miracle cures.  None of them had worked.

          And now I'm defenseless against the onslaught, Ironhorse realized.  His face grew longer.  I'm not going to make it, he concluded.

Sucking in a wheezy pant of air – what currently passed for a deep breath – he steeled himself.  _I'll just have to go along with whatever_ he _comes up with and keep telling myself I_ can't _inflict bodily damage on a civilian.  I hope that's enough…  Leavenworth.  Think Leavenworth, Ironhorse, long years in Leavenworth… with Blackwood as a cellmate._

          He groaned.

          Stepping into the steaming water, the colonel let the heat work its magic on his aching muscles.  His eyes fell shut and he gurgled contentedly while his forehead rested against the low showerhead.

          When he exited the stall, he felt improved by half.  Dressing quickly in sweats before he could catch a chill, Ironhorse willed himself to "look better" and headed out for breakfast.  Maybe protein would help… maybe.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The food and coffee improved his condition further, and by the time Blackwood wandered in to join them, Ironhorse decided he must be looking nearly healed.

          The astrophysicist greeted Suzanne and Norton with a smile, poured his coffee, and turned to Ironhorse.  "You look terrible, Paul.  Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

          The colonel's eyes narrowed, malice bubbling up from their depths.  _Leavenworth_ , he reminded himself, _twenty years… at least._

          "Harrison, leave the poor soldier alone," Norton countered.  "At least he's getting a little color back."

          "And he's eating again," Suzanne added, then looked at the colonel and directed, "Have some more juice, Paul.  The vitamin C will do you good."

          Ironhorse nodded his appreciation and smiled at the pair around gritted teeth.  Taking the pitcher of juice, he filled his cup two-thirds full.  Suzanne looked pleased.

          Somewhere in the back of Blackwood's mind alarm bells went off.  What's wrong with this picture, he wondered.  Like a hound with a scent, he began the hunt.

          "You _are_ going to take it easy today, aren't you?" he asked Ironhorse.  The colonel nodded, raising the glass of juice and draining it.  "Very good, Colonel.  If I didn't know better, I'd think you were acquiring some common sense about this."

          The glass contacted soundly with the dining room table.  Ironhorse's patience had grown thin over the last few days…  Very thin.

          "Like the incident with the heating pad.  I _told_ you that would help," Harrison continued, undaunted as he filled his plate with whole wheat pancakes and reached for the bowl of fresh mashed strawberries, spreading it over them.  "I don't see why you had to wait until I was gone to use it."

          Suzanne and Norton watched, expecting Ironhorse to explode.  Each member of the Project had their own particular way of being sick and dealing with the sick.  Norton refused to go to bed, puttering around the computer, or watching television, asking or getting what he needed himself, and generally maintaining a pleasant attitude throughout the whole affair.  As a result, he let the others have their space when they were feeling under the weather, something Ironhorse appreciated tremendously.

Suzanne, on the other hand, simply climbed into bed and slept through the unpleasant business.  However, when someone else was suffering, her motherly instincts took over, and regardless of the victim, they were treated as if they were her thirteen-year-old daughter, thus her next comment to the soldier.

          "Paul, try some of the cream of wheat, it has lots of iron."

          Ironhorse's eyes closed briefly, his lips moving silently, but he reached out and scooped out some of the white gruel, deposited it into a small bowl and poured milk over it, followed by two heaping teaspoons of sugar.  At least Debi was away, visiting her relatives so she couldn't 'help' her mother tend to him.

          "Colonel, excessive sugar when you're already sick can lower your resistance even further," Blackwood stated informatively.

          The soldier ground his teeth together and shoveled a bite into his mouth.  Leavenworth…  He paused.  It was good.  Okay, so Suzanne had a daughter.  She'd had to learn the tricks of making the recovery process bearable.  He'd thank her later, when he could catch her in private.

          Ironhorse glared at the astrophysicist.  The last of the Project members, Blackwood, was an unmitigated pain in the ass as far as the soldier was concerned.  When the scientist was sick himself, he wandered around the house, harassing whoever he found.  When his energy was finally used up, he'd collapse into a chair in the living room and suffer in not-very-silent misery.  But, try and offer help to the man, and the scientist's martyr complex set in and he'd decline effusively.  Turn the tables, and the man put an obsessive-paranoid mother hen to shame.

          The vague notion that the colonel and Blackwood had some similar traits was quickly squelched.

          "Well," Norton said, slightly disappointed that Ironhorse hadn't exploded on Blackwood as he had repeatedly over the last four days, "I'm off to work.  Feel better, Colonel."

          Ironhorse gave the computer expert a hopeful crooked grin.

          "And I have to finish staining those slides for cross-referencing," Suzanne said, then drained the last of her coffee, set the cup down, and stood.  With a light pat on the colonel's shoulder, she added.  "Try to get a nap today, Paul.  You do look tired."

Ironhorse nodded agreeably.

          Blackwood watched his two friends leave.  There was something happening that he couldn't quite identify.  But what was it?  Continuing to work on his pancakes, he kept watch as the colonel finished the hot cereal, then refilled his coffee cup and stood.

          "Going back to bed?" Harrison asked.

A curt shake of the head was the soldier's reply.

"Your office?"

A nod as the man shuffled out of the room.

"I'll bring you some tea a little later."

          Ironhorse almost commanded the man _not_ to bother, but caught himself in time.  With a final dark glare over his shoulder, he escaped into the temporary haven of his office.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse checked his watch.  It was almost noon – lunchtime.  Maybe he could just stay in his office, and—

No.  If he stayed, someone would drop in to see how he was doing, and he'd have to explain.  A heavy sigh escaped.  _Why this, Grandfather?_ he asked.  He'll _be impossible if he finds out.  He's impossible now!_

          A soft knock interrupted his train of thought.  He glowered at the door.  If that was Blackwood with another cup of his weird tea Ironhorse would _not_ be responsible for his actions, Leavenworth or no.  Every hour on the hour the man had arrived with a cheery expression and a cup of his latest concoction.  The colonel had been forced to accept and drink them without comment.  Enough was enough!  He was going to float away if the scientist persisted.

          Mrs. Pennyworth stuck her head into the room.  "Colonel, will you be joining us for lunch?"

          He nodded and held up a finger to let her know he'd be just a minute.  She nodded and closed the door.

          Rising stiffly from his chair, Ironhorse stretched and allowed his gaze to rest on the ceiling.  _Please, Grandfather_ , he implored, _a quiet meal for once?_

          Exiting, he nearly collided with the two scientists as they left Blackwood's office, headed for the dining room as well.  Before any of them could speak, the telltale alarm echoed up the stairs from Norton's basement computer work station.

          The threesome exchanged worried glances.  Aliens.  Ironhorse knew his Omegans would be scrambling out of the guest house, forming up in the parking lot to await a location and his instructions.  The hiding was over.

          "I'll get my gear," Suzanne said.

          "I'll grab the location from Norton and meet you outside," Blackwood said over her.

          "Hustle, people."  With that Ironhorse was off.

          Suzanne and Harrison paused for a moment.  "I saw his lips move, but I didn't hear anything," the microbiologist commented to her companion.

          "I didn't hear anything either.  No time now, let's—"

          "No need," Drake said, rolling out of the elevator to join his companions.  "False alarm."  Norton's grin told the pair something more than a computer glitch was up.

          "Norton, what's going on?" Suzanne asked.

          Drake folded his arms across his chest and grinned.  "First, let's go tell the Colonel we don't have an alien attack on our hands.  Gertrude, to the van!"

"Norton!" Blackwood said, trailing after the man, Suzanne nearly stepping on his heels.  "Why the false alarm?"

          "I was thinking about breakfast, and our suffering soldier, and I realized he hadn't said a single word the entire meal, even when you were pestering him."

          "I was not pestering him, I—"

          "Was pestering him," Suzanne concluded.  "And?" she prompted Drake.

          "And, I started thinking, what could still our master's voice."

          "And the answer?" Blackwood asked.

          "Laryngitis, but he wouldn't want to admit it, so I thought if he had to reveal himself we could check it out and not put any dings in his pride."

          The threesome exited the Cottage, headed for the small parking area where they could see the Omegans were lined up, ready to go.  Ironhorse stood off from the rest with Derriman, Coleman and Stravakos, the three sergeants leaning close, straining to hear what the colonel was telling them.

          "False alarm, people!" Blackwood shouted, and waved.

          "Sorry about that," Drake echoed.

The Omegans looked to the colonel.  Derriman forced a grin off his face and called out, "Dismissed!"  The squad members about-faced and headed back to the guest house and their interrupted lunches.

          "Sorry, big guy, the Cray just jumped the gun, and before I could get the alarm off, you were out the door," Norton explained with an accomplished air of innocence.

          Ironhorse nodded, turning back to the three sergeants.  "All right, dismissed.  And, good work," he told them, his voice a broken, high raspy squeak that reminded them of a certain chipmunk named Alvin.

          "Excuse me, sir?" Stravakos said, leaning forward.  "I didn't quite hear—"

          The colonel's eyebrows fell to a single point on the bridge of his nose.  "Laps, Sergeant," he creaked.  "They'll improve your hearing."

          Coleman and Derriman fought to stop the grins that tugged at their lips.

          "As for you two—"  The colonel's voice caught, the remainder of the sentence inaudible.  Ironhorse tried to clear his throat, but it seized up and left him coughing instead.

          "He said, dismissed," Blackwood said, grinning as he laid a hand on the officer's back.  "Sorry we interrupted your lunch."

          Derriman nodded.  "Thank you, Doctor.  You will take good care of the Colonel, now, won't you?"

          "Serge—" Ironhorse attempted.

          "Absolutely.  Come along, Paul.  You really shouldn't be outside if you have _laryngitis_ , the cold air aggravates the inflammation."  He placed a well-meaning arm around the colonel's shoulders and guided the simmering officer back toward the Cottage, Suzanne and Norton trailing at a safe distance.  "And talking is out of the question for at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer.  We'll have to try some eucalyptus vapors, and—"

          "Isn't that for sinuses?" Suzanne asked.

          Harrison glanced over his shoulder and winked.  "That's right, but there's something you breathe and it's supposed to help.  Oh, and lots of hot liquids.  The tea I've been bringing should have been helping already.  We'll just increase the frequency…"

          The two men disappeared into the colonel's office.

          "Think it'll drive him to his own bed?" Drake asked.

          "I doubt it," the microbiologist replied, shaking her head with a grin.  "Did you see the look on Paul's face?"  She giggled.  "Oh, I know it's not funny, but—"

          "He's sooooo easy to tease," Norton finished.

          "Exactly."  After looking back at the closed door and listening to the constant drone of Blackwood's voice, she added, "We might want to rescue the Colonel in a while.  Harrison might induce a relapse."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.  Except for a slight cough the flu had _finally_ run its course.  _The week from hell_ , he concluded silently.

          Suzanne looked up from reading the paper.  "Good morning, Paul.  Feeling better?"

          "Fine, thank you."

          She dipped her head to hide a grin.  Blackwood had spent the last two days with an advantage over the soldier and the scientist had made full use of it.

          "Ah, I heard our master's voice," Drake said, rolling in to join them.  "Morning, big guy.  Sounds like you're back to ninety-five percent."

          "Yes, no thanks to someone who shall remain nameless."

          "Speaking of the nameless one, where is the Doc?" the computer expert asked.

          "I haven't seen him," Suzanne replied, folding up the paper and handing it to Ironhorse.  "But I did hear him moving around more than usual last night."

          The threesome filled their plates and started eating.  They were nearly finished when Blackwood finally joined them, looking peevish.  Collapsing into his seat, the astrophysicist poured himself some coffee, but ignored the food.

          "Harrison, are you all right?" Suzanne asked.

          The scientist nodded.

          Drake and Ironhorse exchanged glances across the table, the computer wiz sure he saw revenge blossoming in the black depths.

          "Are you _sure_ , Doctor?" the colonel asked.  "You look a little _flushed_.  Do you have a _fever?_ "

          Cold blue eyes regarded the soldier for a moment, then a thin squeaky voice accused, " _You_ did this to me."

Suzanne caught herself just in time to keep from spraying coffee across the table, and stared in amazement at her boss.  "Harrison, you never get sick.  It's all that yoga and veggies."

          The glower shifted.  " _He_ did it," Blackwood croaked.

          "Well, Doctor, I don't see how that was possible, since it was _you_ who were following me around, but I'm sure _you_ know what to do about it," Ironhorse said smugly.  "There's all that _tea_.  I'm sure I can brew it up for you.  And the _vapors_.  Oh, and the _vi-ta-mins_ , and cream of wheat, and you'll want to stay inside where it's _warm_ , preferably in _bed_.  I'll find that heating pad – you're going to need it.  The muscles aches are rather severe.  Maybe you should go back to bed _now_ , Harrison.  You look _terrible_.  Didn't you sleep at all last night?"

          Blackwood blinked.  He was doomed.  "Next time," he crackled, "you're on your own, pal."

          Ironhorse smiled up at the ceiling.  "Thank you, Grandfather!"


End file.
